Teach Me
by frickangel
Summary: From the after effects of Grave Danger, the CSI team are faced with the past and repercussions of the lab explosion. And no one takes it harder than the victim himself: Greg.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Teach Me

**Summary**: Nick's back in the Crime Lab and still suffering the repercussions of his trauma. With no one else who can understand what he's going through, the only person who can help him turns out to be Greg. Post _Grave Danger_, Nick/Greg friendship.

**A/N**: Since TPTB won't drag up Greg's events of Season 3 again, and I believe that Nick's locked-in-the-coffin story is just as emotionally scarring as being blown out of your lab, here's a short fic of trying to ease my own frustration.

Thanks to **Fraying** for being my beta-reader.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own CSI and all its characters, whoever owns them, owns them. But it's not me- though I wish.

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.

Two days ago, he was adamant that he return to duty. He didn't want any special treatment, and even his counsellor had cleared him with a giant bill of clean emotional health.

Two days ago, he was looking forward to this day and going back to work, doing what he had loved for so long.

Two days ago, he had pushed all voiced concerns by his officials if he'd be as effective as he used to be.

Two days ago, he was damn sure of himself that coming back here would be no big deal.

That was two days ago.

Now, he wasn't sure it was himself who had thought about all of that. In fact, if anything now, he wanted to get out and go home. Maybe lock all the doors, close the windows and sit in front of the sports channel with a six-pack nestled in his arms.

He forced his sight to his open palms spread out on his lap as if they were holding out an offering to the heavens. Those exact hands had been banging on the lid of his premature grave. He could still feel the smooth glass on his fingertips. Even the smell of dried wood and leaves lingered in his nostrils, and it was nauseating. The chilling memories had begun to fade just a few days ago. He barely thought of it anymore, except maybe every second that he was left by himself, which was most of the time. He had thought being here would take his mind off of things and maybe, just maybe, things would be back to normal.

How could he be so wrong?

There was a plan forming in his head. If he just stood up right then and put his coat back on, he could be out of the building before anyone would realise he was gone. Later, he could call back and say that he'd had some sort of emergency. It was simple, but good enough.

"Hey, Nick."

Biting your own tongue hurtsSomething Nick discovered as he did so to avoid showing his shock. Instead, he swallowed hard, leaving the taste of blood in his mouth.

"Greg…" he watched as the younger man started pulling some things out of his locker. He hadn't seen Greg enter the locker room. He wondered how long he had been there.

He sat on the bench and waited for another of the questions that he had been answering since the incident. They had been asked so often that he had his answers memorised word for word; and almost automatically fired to spit out the line.

It never came.

He watched as Greg began untying his shoelaces and re-tying them tighter. Greg's MagLight was thrown back into the metal cage before more noise was made by his unpacking.

"Shift's starting soon?" Greg attempted light conversation.

Nick nodded a couple of times before noticing that Greg wasn't looking at him to see his response. "Yeah. In about half an hour."

"Cool."

The end of the exchange had arrived, relieving him from the casual chitchat. All he had to do now was to wait for Greg to depart and he would dive for his own locker and split.

Nick hadn't realised he had his CSI badge between fingers until he dropped it on the floor. It was Greg slamming the locker shut, shocking him. Only this time, he hadn't bitten into his tongue and he freely yelped in surprise, jumping about 2 inches in the air.

This was ridiculous. He couldn't continue life everyday like this; jumping at every bump and grunt, and looking over his shoulder for signs. Ridiculous it may have been, but Nick was doing exactly that.

"Here…"

Looking up, he saw Greg grinning a little and offering his badge back.

"Thanks."

"No biggie. Now if you excuse me, I'm gonna head home. Think I'll crash in front of a nicely warmed bowl of instant macaroni and cheese for breakfast."

There wasn't anyone else more worthy to ask than him. Nick hadn't thought about it until now. Maybe he could learn something. "Greg?"

"Yeah?" He whirled around just before taking the last step out of the locker room.

"How did… you… erm, you know..." He chewed his lip and tried bending the edges of the plastic badge.

"Say what?"

It came out as more of a choke than a plea.

"I need help."

Greg's fingers drummed across the backpack that remained held in his hand as he took more than a moment of silence. Nick gulped down the bitter aftertaste of his sentence and wondered if Greg would understand.

Retracing his steps back to the bench, Greg settled himself next to Nick and nodded. "What's up?"

Something told him that Greg probably already knew what was up. Nick let out a small breath of air to prepare himself.

"How did you get over it?"

"Over… _it_?"

"The lab explosion." Nick's lowered his eyes to the floor and back at Greg's expression of confusion. "Teach me."

There was a small, awkward pause; the kind that would linger and drain the world of all sound.

"It chases after you, doesn't it?"

"What does?"

"You, being in that…" Greg illustrated what he meant by moving his fingers to trace an imaginary box in the air. "…thing"

"Sort of." It was almost a lie. 'Sort of' was an understatement considering it haunted him all the time. Every waking moment.

"You know why I wanted out of the lab and into the field?"

Giving a half hearted and not completely comprehensive nod, Nick replied. "You wanted to get out." He was getting a little annoyed that Greg had not answered his own questions, yet here he was replying to one of the younger man's.

"Not really."

That was a shock. "No?"

"I wanted out because I thought I was gonna go nuts being stuck in the lab everyday. I kept thinking that something would go wrong, and I was always checking on the hot plate, the gas nozzles, the solvents... I wouldn't even dare walk near the glass walls. I was becoming a compulsive, paranoid freak and it was so bad that, I think, I spent more time checking on things than actually running tests."

It was a deduction that even the newest CSI rookie would've come to, and to Nick's disappointment, it meant he was going to suffer the same fate as Greg. To walk into work everyday, afraid of the normal things. "So you never got over it…" Both his palms covered his face, wiping it down as if trying to wash away his fears. Though no matter how many times he did it, it never worked.

Both the men sat on the bench in defeated silence while people on the outside threaded past the room, oblivious to their common shadows.

"Sometimes, it itches."

Nick swallowed the question, because he knew Greg would answer it even when he hadn't asked. Though he turned his head to face him, Greg's eyes remained locked on the cold steel containers in front of them; that is, if he was looking at them in the first place. Somehow, Nick felt that Greg was staring hard at his past more than what was physically there in front of them.

"My back. It itches." Greg cleared his throat, muttering just a little louder. "Most of the scars faded and the doctors told me it's pretty much healed completely." He shook his head.

"I know it's been two years, but every time I think about the fire, the smell of the plastic, the shattering glass… I can feel the burns."

The exact same thing was happening to him. Nick could remember every detail stronger than it has been, as if his brain was amplifying the events 10 times more. Even the terror had multiplied.

He snapped out of his self-inspection to a soft rustling noise, and Nick saw Greg placing his thin coat on the seat.

"Here," He whispered and turned his back to Nick before pulling up his t-shirt slightly, just enough for Nick to see what only he was meant to see.

Greg was right. Most of the scars had faded, but they both knew that burn marks never completely go away. Greg's back was a perfect example of that. On his pale skin were splotches of a darker tone, some lighter and others more prominent. Nick grimaced and prayed that Greg hadn't seen him cringe.

He shuddered this time, and suddenly the flashbacks of ants crawling and climbing over his body returned. He never felt it this time, though. His body, he figured, was probably too numbed by the panic and shock. Despite this, he was trying to brush off imaginary insects soon afterwards.

Pulling down his shirt, Greg shuffled back to his original position and flashed a small grin. It wasn't a very persuading one. "Good thing it's on my back and I can't see it," He joked.

It still didn't help Nick one bit with what he was going through

"I may not be able to teach you, Nick," Greg continued, "But I can help you learn from what I did."

"What?"

"The truth is, I ran from my fears. Instead of staying in the lab and continuing my job, I fought to find a way to escape."

There was no objection from Nick. He felt no different after what Greg had said. Not too long ago he had planned to fly away from here.

"I could've faced it and probably conquered it, but now I'll never know. It's another one of those situations; 'what if?'. Sometimes I feel like I've lost more than just my sanity in that explosion. Still don't know what it was, but it's changed."

"I think I know what you mean," Nick added.

He grinned again and slapped his thighs with both palms, "Anyway, the moral of the story is 'don't run like Greg did.' Because I regret it now. Don't get me wrong, I mean I'm loving this, it's just that it's never going to be like it used to be."

"So I'm supposed to just go on working and it'll all work out?" Nick couldn't help but leave the sarcasm and doubt in his voice. Even if he hadn't, the question still would have sounded rude and icy. Well, Greg wasn't locked in a box and buried underground! They were so different. Maybe it had been a mistake asking Greg after all.

"All I'm saying is that it's not going to be easy and if you want you keep things even close to as they were before, you have to fight for it."

Funny how Greg said '_close _to as they were.' It was just another way to say that everything's different. No one else may realise but only he would. At least from his perspective.

"That's all I know," Greg stood up with his coat slung over his shoulder. "Don't think I can teach you anything... unless you want to know how to cook instant macaroni and cheese without getting it too dry?"

Nick gripped his badge harder and threw open his locker door with so much force that he hadn't noticed what he had done. The metal piece swung back at him from inertia, but he blocked with an elbow. The badge was mercilessly flung back into the small space and sat there in semi-darkness.

"Okay… I'll head home then." Greg continued his journey. "Nice seeing you, Nick."

He hadn't meant to seem angry, and even if he did, it wasn't directed at Greg. It was at himself for thinking that he should run home earlier. By the time Nick had thought about acknowledging Greg, the ex-lab tech had left the place as suddenly as he had first arrived.

Nick was going to have to apologise to him someday. But today, he was going to take a wise man's advice.

Slowly, Nick holstered his weapon to the back of his jeans and grabbed his badge again.

His shift had just started.

-----

**TBC...**

Thanks for reading.  
-Cheers  
Jo


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Teach Me

**Summary**: Nick's back in the Crime Lab and still suffering the repercussions of his trauma. With no one else who can understand what he's going through, the only person who can help him turns out to be Greg. Post _Grave Danger_, Nick/Greg friendship.

**A/N**: Since TPTB won't drag up Greg's events of Season 3 again, and I believe that Nick's locked-in-the-coffin story is just as emotionally scarring as being blown out of your lab, here's a short fic of trying to ease my own frustration.

Thanks to **Fraying** for being my beta-reader.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own CSI and all its characters, whoever owns them, owns them. But it's not me- though I wish.

**Chapter 2**

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Greg swore that if he stared at another leaf or crumpled tissue paper soiled with mucus, he was going to make someone have it for a meal. He decided that the lucky someone should be Hodges, and the decision was for no apparent reason. Sara had wandered off to Grissom's office to hand him a report Mia had passed to them only five minutes ago. That girl was a walking machine, and a workaholic.

It was then that Greg pondered on Sara's crush on their supervisor. Sure, she had tried hiding it with a professional front, but no one could hide anything like that from Greg the great.

He sniggered at himself and shook his head.

The point was, his shift for the night had ended, and it was time to get his ass home to bed.

It took him a moment longer, but in the end, Greg had noticed a very stoic looking Nick sitting on the locker room benches. Couldn't say the same for Nick though. He repeatedly flipped his badge between his fingers while Greg eyed him and headed over to his own locker.

No response of acknowledgement from him yet thus forcing Greg to make a simple conclusion-

Nick was oblivious to his surroundings.

"Hey, Nick."

It was a whole handful of seconds before Nick even registered that anyone was talking, let alone realise it was Greg who was standing in the same room and breathing the same stuffy air.

"Greg…"

He had practically read it off Nick's lips since his voice was barely audible. Staring at the insides of his locker, Greg pondered humming the annoying tune that was stuck in his head, repeating itself over and over again. He fought against it and decided to retie his shoelaces, just because he felt like it.

Loop in and out, over and under. Pull.

Greg double knotted it, making sure he wouldn't have to worry about a loose lace later on. He pulled himself back up and artistically threw a MagLight into his locker. It hit him somehow that there was something odd about that moment.

It was too damn quiet. "Shift's starting soon?"

A more expected question would've probably been: How are you doing? Need any help? I'm a good listener, or want to talk?

To be honest, Greg was sick of those questions; either from his own grandparents, or from Grissom. The worst was when it came from some unknown stranger who claimed to know what he was going through- the crime lab's own counsellor, sent to talk to Greg after the big lab explosion. He felt that if he had wanted to talk to someone, he would find a person by himself and not pick out people like those in the classified ads.

He shifted some objects around in his locker, trying to look for that CD he was thinking of.

"Yeah. In about half an hour."

"Cool." Obviously, he hadn't left the CD in here. Greg hoped and feared at the same time, that the disk was at home, under his mess of laundry. In frustration, he shoved a wad of papers into one corner and mentally kicked himself for not being able to keep at least his own locker clean. It wasn't a big thing, but leave it to Greg to mess up even the smallest areas.

Finding that there wasn't anything to push around, Greg glumly slammed his locker shut with more than the necessary force. He felt guilty for doing that. More for the fact that it had startled Nick who was probably on his last few nerves than anything else. The most he could do was pick up the badge Nick had dropped. "Here…" he dusted off make-believe dirt and showed an apologetic smile.

"Thanks."

"No biggie, now if you excuse me, I'm gonna head home. Think I'll crash in front of a nicely warmed bowl of instant macaroni and cheese for breakfast."

Lightly slinging his backpack halfway over his shoulder, Greg pressed his lips together to whistle thinking th-.

"Greg?"

He whirled behind to answer Nick, "Yeah?"

"How did… you… erm, you know,"

Maybe it was his own god-awful hearing, but Greg couldn't make out a word of what Nick was trying to mumble. "Say what?"

"I need help."

Three words that could make a man sound like a baby. But in Nick's case, it was a friend who was in need, and it takes an even bigger man to say those words. Greg knew, and was at least 50 sure, what Nick was asking; and yet he was trying to figure out how he could tell him the lie that everything was going to be just fine. The fact was, nothing would ever be the same again.

By the time Greg got to the bench and sat down, he still had no idea what to say. "What's up?"

There was a pause and a short window of time where Greg eyed his friend, who was seemingly contemplating his next sentence.

"How did you get over it?"

Now it was Greg's turn to contemplate, and to decipher the question, "Over…_ it_?"

"The lab explosion." He stated it more clearly and broke the eye contact only to return with a more steadfast stare. "Teach me."

There were scenarios and dialogues, which Greg had been running through his mind, piecing together which was the best one to present to Nick. Somehow, all of them sounded immature and redundant- even more than usual.

"It chases after you, doesn't it?" It spewed through his lips before his brain could tell him to shut up. Then again, rationality wasn't one of Greg's strongest suits.

"What does?"

An understandable question to Greg's own. "You being in that…" He figured that saying 'coffin' would be too sensitive, and somehow 'box' was too _insensitive_. Greg was left to draw out the encasement with his fingers in the air and settled for a vague word to describe it. "…thing."

"Sort of."

Suddenly Greg was talking faster than his mind could comprehend the words. He wasn't sure whether those words were good enough to be spoken aloud. Still, his heart knew it was the right thing to say. "You know why I wanted out of the lab and into the field?"

A nod from Nick. "You wanted to get out."

"Not really." He felt like a man in confession. Whatever it was that Nick was thinking, Greg couldn't read it off his face. At least not now.

"No?"

The flashback was like a bad movie that had no audio and awful editing, but Greg remembered the details enough. So vivid were they that he wished he had suffered amnesia when he hit his head on the concrete floor that day. "I wanted out because I thought I was gonna go nuts being stuck in the lab everyday. I kept thinking that something would go wrong, and I was always checking on the hot plate, the gas nozzles, the solvents... I wouldn't even dare walk near the glass walls. I was becoming a compulsive, paranoid freak and it was so bad that, I think, I spent more time checking on things than actually running tests."

If there was ever a time that Greg had seen Nick looking defeated, it had to have been there and then, in the locker room. "

So you never got over it…" The end of the sentence was muffled by Nick's hands as he swept his palms over his face.

For the last few minutes, every sentence that had flowed out of Greg's consciousness had finally ceased, plunging the both of them into a desperate loss for words. He felt that Nick was disappointed, probably because Greg's accident was far less traumatic than his own. If Nick had indeed thought of it as that, then the older man was sorely mistaken and Greg had proof.

"Sometimes, it itches."

He wondered if he had been heard at all, since all there was from the other side was unspoken silence. "My back. It itches." He repeated himself a little more sternly. "Most of the scars faded and the doctors told me it's pretty much healed completely." He shook his head, "I know it's been two years, but every time I think about the fire, the smell of the plastic, the shattering glass… I can feel the burns."

Taking a deep breath, Greg did the one thing he was afraid to do. He gently sat his backpack on the floor and began to peel off his coat, placing it by his side.

Another deep breath in.

"Here." Turning his back slightly to Nick, he pulled up his shirt just enough, knowing exactly where the scars begun and just enough to reveal what was meant to be seen. Greg told himself he was going to count to ten and then turn back.

Six, seven… nine, 10.

Attempting to look light and casual, Greg smiled, but only a little, as he turned. "Good thing it's on my back and I can't see it." Tweezing the soft fabric of the jacket between his fingers, Greg continued,

"I may not be able to teach you, Nick, but I can help you learn from what I did."

"What?"

Greg smiled again when Nick finally spoke. "The truth is, I ran from my fears. Instead of staying in the lab and continuing my job, I fought to find a way to escape." As suddenly as he had voiced himself, Nick quieted down once more.

"I could've faced it and probably conquered it, but now I'll never know. It's another one of those situations; 'what if'." He smoothed his hair down and ruffled it all at once. Something he did absently when he struggled with his thoughts. "Sometimes I feel like I've lost more than just my sanity in that explosion. Still don't know what it was, but it's changed."

"I think I what you mean," Nick whispered.

That was it; Greg couldn't say or tell any more from his side. He felt like he had done his part, no matter how awful it was.

"Anyway, the moral of the story is 'don't run like Greg did.' Because I regret it now- don't get me wrong, I mean I love this, it's just that it's never going to be like it used to be."

"So I'm supposed to just go on working and it'll all work out?"

The tone had stung Greg as bad as a punch in the face. This is the thanks he gets for trying to help. "All I'm saying is that it's not going to be easy, and if you want you keep things even close to how they were, you have to fight for it." His own frustration mounted in his voice. If Nick wanted to wallow in self-pity, he could. He had asked Greg for help and now here he was biting him back.

Greg had enough and he decided to push every ounce of his anger into the next line, "That's all I know," He prepared himself to head off. "Don't think I can teach you anything... unless you want to know how not to cook instant macaroni and cheese without getting it too dry?"

Once again, Nick never bothered to answer. It was getting annoying.

"Okay… I'll head home then." Greg paused just at the doorstep. "Nice seeing you, Nick." It wasn't meant to be sarcasm. It was a heart felt wish of 'welcome back' to him. But it was up to Nick on how he wanted to interpret it. Because, at the point when Greg was leaving the building, he couldn't give a hoot about it.

-----

Thanks to **goblz**for your lovely review. :)

Thanks to everyone else for reading.  
-Cheers  
Jo


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Teach Me

**Summary**: A little talk, a little thought. Nick seeks Greg's advice about handling the haunting demons. Things between a lab explosion and a premature burial. Post Grave Danger.

**A/N**: Since TPTB won't drag up Greg's events of Season 3 again, and I believe that Nick's locked-in-the-coffin story is just as emotionally scarring as being blown out of your lab, here's a short fic of trying to ease my own frustration. The original idea was to have it only a Nick and Greg exchange, but the other CSI characters didn't let me do that. Now they've somehow managed to squirm their way into a chapter.

Thanks to **Fraying** for being my beta-reader.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own CSI and all its characters, whoever owns them, owns them. But it's not me- though I wish.

**CHAPTER 3**

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"_My back.__ It itches."_ His voice reached Sara's ears loud and clear

She pressed herself closer to the wall and reluctantly tried to pry her tired body away, not wanting to eavesdrop. But it was too late; Sara had been there the moment Nick had called out to Greg. If she had wanted to leave, she would have done so long ago. She couldn't hide the obvious that she was sticking to the outside wall of the locker room just to overhear the entire exchange.

_"Most of the scars faded and the doctors told me it's pretty much healed completely. I know it's been two years, but every time I think about the fire, the smell of the plastic, the shattering glass… I can feel the burns."_

Her mind raced back to the time in the decontamination shower. She was staring at his scars and she wondered if they were from the explosion a year ago. Now she knew.

_"Good thing it's on my back and I can't see it." _

There was a pause, which Sara took to close her eyes and shook her head. It was so typical of Greg to shoot off a lame remark like that, but it's what kept things sane sometimes.

_"I may not be able to teach you, Nick, but I can help you learn from what I did."_

_"What?" _

Leave now, Sara.

Go.

She was trying to keep herself from learning too much, but it was too late. She cared too deeply for her partner and she was determined to find out what he had been through since the lab accident. It was as if some invisible force had planted her feet on the ground.

_"The truth is, I ran from my fears. Instead of staying in the lab and continuing my job, I fought to find a way to escape. I could've faced it and probably conquered it, but now I'll never know. It's another one of those situations; 'what if'. Sometimes I feel like I've lost more than just my sanity in that explosion. Still don't know what it was, but it's changed."_

It dawned upon her that she knew exactly what Greg meant by those words. There was barely any loud music from his lab the entire year, the funny and often terrible T-shirts were sparse, jokes were few and far between, and the mood had been more subtle. The one moment in which Sara had noticed the old Greg was gone was when Grissom finally said he could go out on the field. She now knew why it meant the world to him for being able to leave the lab.

Recalling, Sara had nightmares for a week after the blast and that was when she was on the outside. She couldn't imagine how it must've been to be in the middle of it.

"Hey, girl."

She stopped dead in her tracks, worried that Greg or Nick had noticed her outside. It wasn't until she had looked up and open her eyes did she realise she had walked away from the room and left the private conversation to be more… private.

"Sara, you OK?"

"Err… yeah." She stammered and flashed a small smile at Warrick.

"You seem a bit distant. You sure? You're-."

"I'm fine." She replied firmly. "Just a little tired."

"Go home."

"I am. Just need to drop by Hodges to pick up something and then I'm off to sleep-land this morning."

Warrick nodded and pushed his manila file into his other free hand. "Nick's back."

"Oh, he is?" She had no idea why she needed to lie, but she did.

"Yeah. He was pretty damned sure he wanted back. Anyway, have you seen Greg or has he gone home?"

Pursing her lips and stuffing her hands into her jeans' pockets, Sara shrugged, "Now that you mentioned it, I think Greg's talking with Nick in the locker room. Thought it was him, but wasn't sure until you told me he came back. You wanted to see Greg about something?"

He did a half snort and laughed, "Nah, just wanted to tell him-." He waved it off, "It's not important, I'll go see Catherine first."

"She's with Grissom."

"Thanks." He warmly smiled at her, "Now, go home and sleep."

"Yeah, I will."

Sara turned behind and made her way to Hodges. This time, if he cracked another disparaging remark about Greg, she was going to pulverise him.

-----

**TBC…**

Thanks to **SunShower** and **Goblz** for the reviews. You both rock.

Thanks for reading.  
-Cheers  
Jo


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: Teach Me

**Summary**: A little talk, a little thought. Nick seeks Greg's advice about handling the haunting demons. Things between a lab explosion and a premature burial. Post Grave Danger.

**A/N**: Yeah, it's short.

Thanks to **Fraying** for being my beta-reader.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own CSI and all its characters, whoever owns them, owns them. But it's not me- though I wish.

**CHAPTER 4**

-----

All he had to do was say 'I'm sorry' and his conscience would let him sleep better at night. Warrick felt like he had picked on Greg doing the entire crisis just because he could. It wasn't like he was able to mouth off at Catherine without suffering the consequences.

If anything, Warrick felt like a coward who was bullying on the smaller kids, and he had to respect Greg for not trying to throw a chair at him.

_'Hey, I found a trigger wire. Maybe ... once we reassemble all the components, we'll be able to tell where the bomb came from. Maybe that-.'_

_'Yeah, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe if we count up all the damn "maybes," maybe Nick will be alive!'_

He shut his eyes for a few seconds, tapping his file against his hand and trying to wash away the memory. What happened after that only made things worse. He was just glad there was only a small container nearby and it wasn't something he could've really hurt Greg with.

No matter how many times he practiced it in his mind, Warrick froze as he saw Greg make his way out of the building. He just needed to call out Greg's name, walk up to him, and say those magic words.

Instead, Warrick watched the man leave with his head looking down and he knew that pouncing on Greg for forgiveness when he was this tired and run down was as bad as twisting his arm for it.

_There's always tomorrow_, Warrick decided as Greg's figure disappeared out of sight and around the corner.

Maybe he'll check on Nick first and then see Catherine.

-----

**TBC... **

**ladyjr16**,** remoob1513 **and** Wayward Fate**,thanks for the encouraging reviews ;) **  
**

Thanks for reading.  
-Cheers  
Jo


	5. Chapter 5

**Title**: Teach Me

**Summary**: A little talk, a little thought. Nick seeks Greg's advice about handling the haunting demons. Things between a lab explosion and a premature burial. Post Grave Danger.

**A/N**: I can't think of anything to torture you by. So just enjoy this chapter :)

Thanks to **Fraying** for being my beta-reader.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own CSI and all its characters, whoever owns them, owns them. But it's not me- though I wish.

**CHAPTER 5**

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Tea was never going to replace the bittersweet elixir of coffee, but the break room was out of the dark drink. All that were left were bags of tea. Catherine didn't care; caffeine was caffeine. Earlier on, she threw the soaked tea bag away before manoeuvring around the place praying people won't see her as a tea drinker, for it came to her as a sort of sin.

Things and thoughts were messing around in her mind, and she needed something to soothe her soul. Since liquor was banned while being on duty, caffeine became her placebo.

She had knocked on Grissom's door, hoping for some company before her shift started knowing that at this time, he wouldn't be doing much but filling out reports.

And she was right. He invited her to one of the seats and she obliged.

"So, how long?"

Catherine was pleased that Grissom had bothered to look up after the question. "I beg your pardon?" he asked.

She was going to go mad if she didn't get her thoughts off her chest. "For a traumatic experience like this to, you know, disappear."

"You mean Nick?"

Well duh. "I'm just wondering if he should be back so early. It all seems pretty raw still, even for me; and I wasn't the one trapped in a Plexiglas state of hell." She took her first drink of the tea and fought hard to avoid gagging on the terrible taste. What in the world made her think tea would be able to replace her favourite?

"Honestly, I wasn't sure if he was going to be back at all."

It was the gospel truth, yet Catherine found it irritating that Grissom would even suggest such a thing. Instead of biting back with some half-witted retort, Catherine convinced herself to continue her sip of tea, only the beverage never touched her lips. She left it at the bottom of her cup, tilting it only slightly to avoid the tea assaulting her taste buds. After all, she only wanted to look busy without having to answer Grissom.

People passed by Grissom's window, casting dull shadows upon the floor. There was one that stood out among the rest.

"How long did it take Greg?" Catherine caught Grissom fix his eyes on the ex-lab technician as he marched across. But it never seemed to register with him; instead, he continued staring out even though the young CSI had long left the scene. It was up to her to bring him out of his trance. "He seems so unfazed by the explosion."

Her plan only worked for a short moment. Grissom had looked like he snapped out of it, only he ignored what she had stated. This time, Catherine left him to his musings; he'll eventually bring himself out when he's ready.

"Greg did take a long time." Grissom finally said. "He just chose not to publicise it."

As if her conscience couldn't take enough guilt from causing the lab explosion and the thought that she handed out Nick's own burial slip was tough to even think about. She didn't want to know what Greg had to go through after the incident. She would rather be ignorant to it. Catherine saw part of Nick's recovery and that was enough for her.

While the rest had stayed behind at the nursery, she and Warrick had travelled with Nick to the hospital and made frantic calls to Nick's parents. The couple rushed to the emergency room looking flustered and yet relieved, but it was far from over. They hadn't seen their son and had to be prepared for the full run through of what went down. It was a story Catherine wished she didn't need to recount for anyone.

The important thing was that Nick was safe. During that night at the ER, she witnessed the Stokes' emotional breakdown as Bill and Jillian held each other for support. Putting herself in their shoes, Catherine didn't know if she could hold on to anybody if Lindsey was the one under the dirt. She could barely keep herself together.

"And Nick?"

His eyebrow arched and took in a deep breath of air. "I don't know."

That was an unacceptable answer. She needed to know that something was going to go right after this. Even if it meant lying to her.

"It's not going to be easy. Just be there for him, no matter what." Grissom advised.

If there was some hidden meaning to what he said, Catherine never got it. Her lips broke apart for her to remark on what he said, though someone had beaten her to the punch.

"Hey, Cath."

The voice was low and rich. Catherine instantly knew who it was without looking at him, but it was common practice for humans to do so. She turned to face him, and Warrick entered the office by half a stride. "Was looking for you. You said you wanted my report first thing when I came in?"

"Right…" Of course, she remembered now what it was that nagged her at the back of her mind. "I need to hand out the worksheets too."

Hopefully, today was going to be an uneventful affair because strolling down the memory lane of emotions was draining enough. Catherine wished she could go back home and curl up in bed with Lindsey. She wasn't done with Grissom though. "You heading out or are you still going to be here a while longer?" she questioned.

Grissom simple replied with his trademark shrug of uncertainty that was mixed with assurance.

"Well, see you later then." Either way, she'll meet with him again.

Together, Warrick and Catherine made their tracks out of his office and trailed off. "You've seen Nick?"

"Yeah." Warrick remained in his walking pace. "He looked fine, said he had a good chat with a wise man. Whatever that meant."

She waved it off. Catherine didn't feel like racking her brain about something she probably wouldn't find out. "If it did him good, I'm not complaining."

"Right. So business as usual?"

Catherine dropped Warrick's report on her desk as she entered and pulled out a slip from under her paperweight. "Just came in." she handed it to him. "You and Nick deal with this and make sure business is good today."

"Yes ma'am." He smirked and did a mock salute before leaving.

Glaring at her cup of tea, Catherine tossed the contents into a half-yellowed plant by her chair and discarded the empty Styrofoam into the trash. "Business as usual." she muttered to no one in particular.

Looking out of her window, she spotted Nick and Warrick standing in the corridor and saw their mouths moving alternately. They shared a laugh, shook their heads, shrugged, and finally moved out of sight.

"Business as usual…"

-----

To **remoob1513**, **jewelbaby**, **BabyAlyx96**. **goblz**, **ladyjr16** and **new creation**, thanks for the reviews. ;)  
**goblz**: You reviewed twice, lol, thanks for that and yes, this is a Catherine POV. BTW, you should definitely watch _Grave Dangers_.

Thanks to everyone else for reading.  
-Cheers  
Jo


	6. Chapter 6

**Title**: Teach Me

**Summary**: From the after effects of Grave Danger, the CSI team are faced with the past and repercussions of the lab explosion. And no one takes it harder than the victim himself; Greg. Just my own little mind trying to vent my frustration over TPTB's lack of continuance over "Play With Fire".

**A/N**: This was technically supposed to be the last chapter. However, my stupid brain isn't letting me do that. There's probably going to be a couple more chapters to annoy you guys with.

Thanks to **Fraying** for being my beta-reader.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own CSI and all its characters, whoever owns them, owns them. But it's not me- though I wish.

**CHAPTER 6**

-----

"So, how long?"

Grissom peered over his glasses, "I beg your pardon?"

"For a traumatic experience like this to, you know, disappear." Catherine nestled herself further into the chair and cradled her cup of coffee.

"You mean Nick?"

She nodded while taking another sip. "I'm just wondering if he should be back so early. It all seems pretty raw still, even for me; and I wasn't the one trapped in a Plexiglas state of hell."

"Honestly, I wasn't sure if he was going to be back at all."

In response, Catherine merely continued taking her sip of coffee, which Grissom suspected, was fast becoming into a swig of coffee. He waited a moment longer for Catherine to ask again, but since she hadn't, Grissom concentrated on the files opened before him.

_'Pancho.'_

"How long did it take Greg?"

Looking up at her again, Grissom followed her gaze out of his office window and saw a familiar figure walk pass. After years of working as a CSI and for knowing him so long, Grissom knew when Greg wasn't his usual self. And when he walked by, Grissom figured there was something on the young man's mind.

Catherine was kidnapped, Sara was held hostage, Greg's lab was blown up with him in it, and Nick had been buried alive. Was his team jinxed?

"He seems so unfazed by the explosion."

Catherine's words twisted Grissom out of his thoughts only to slip him deeper into another.

Greg being unfazed by the ordeal wasn't even close to the truth. Grissom reminisced the time when he entered his lab only to find Greg's hands shaking. Grissom told no one about it, having faith that Greg would overcome it.

Before then, Grissom knew Greg to be an eccentric and loud individual, but the explosion had taken a lot out of him and there was barely much of the old lab tech left in him. He had caught Greg staring at the Bunsen burner with a lighter in his hand and that's all he did; stare. It wasn't until Grissom had called out his name a few times before Greg finally snapped out of it and gave a goofy kind of grin.

Eventually, the hand-shaking stopped; but not before Greg would drop by Grissom's office just to talk about anything. Family, friends, coffee, the odd facts of life to even Greg's dislike of literature. Grissom had come to realise why Greg would escape from the lab ever so often. He had admitted it one day, almost to himself, that he was afraid that anything might happen again if he stayed longer than he had to.

It took Grissom time, but he accepted the fact that in the best interest of Greg's, he let the young man begin his field training. Today, Grissom suspected that he did so only to appease his own guilt rather than to keep Greg's sanity. Grissom had thought Greg wouldn't pass a trip to the morgue let alone be a CSI. The plan was that when Greg failed, he would return to the lab content that the grass was never greener on the other side. But Grissom was surprised by Greg's ability and even managed to find the most secluded evidence.

Maybe Grissom had given Greg his chance because he discovered that Greg was becoming more than his student. He was like a son Grissom never had. Everyone here was the closest thing he had to family.

"Greg did take a long time." The night shift supervisor broke his long-standing silence. "He just chose not to publicise it."

The Styrofoam cup made a low rumble as Catherine's fingernails rubbed against it. "And Nick?"

The folders were closed, piled up into a stack by his side while Grissom sank back into his chair and tapped the armrests. "I don't know."

The blonde CSI didn't look happy at such an unfulfilling answer.

"It's not going to be easy. Just be there for him, no matter what." he added.

"Hey Cath,"

Both the supervisors switched their attention towards the door. Warrick stood at the frame, blocking most of the light coming from outside.

"Was looking for you. You said you wanted my report first thing when I came in?" he continued.

"Right…" she whispered and released herself from the chair. "I need to hand out the worksheets, too." Taking two steps forward, she dropped her stare on Grissom. "You heading out or are you still going to be here a while longer?"

All of a sudden, he felt too exhausted to answer her and he did what he could do to avoid speaking; he shrugged.

"Well, see you later then."

The two of them exited his office and left Grissom to his own, surrounded by his pickled specimens and books. There was a slight buzz coming from the fluorescent light above him as it flickered, but only for a millisecond before settling itself back to norm.

Slowly, he retrieved his mobile phone from his pocket and thumbed the keypad. Reading off the screen, Grissom searched for 'G. Sanders', hit the call button, and waited amidst the ringing tone for Greg to answer the phone.

-----

**TBC..**

Many thanks to **new creation**, **remoob1513**, **ladyjr16** and **goblz** for the reviews.  
**new**** creation: **Wow, that is one huge compliment, thanks. But if I was really a CSI story writer, you'll see a lot more of Greg. He's probably one of the most underdeveloped characters along with Brass and Robbins.  
**remoob1513: **Yeah, all going back to Greg, probably 'cause I'm a big Greg fan. ;)

Thanks for reading.  
-Cheers  
Jo


	7. Chapter 7

**Title**: Teach Me

**Summary**: From the after effects of Grave Danger, the CSI team are faced with the past and repercussions of the lab explosion. And no one takes it harder than the victim himself; Greg. Just my own little mind trying to vent my frustration over TPTB's lack of continuance over "Play With Fire".

**A/N**: This was technically supposed to be the last chapter. However, my stupid brain isn't letting me do that. There's probably going to be a couple more chapters to annoy you guys with.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own CSI and all its characters, whoever owns them, owns them. But it's not me- though I wish.

**CHAPTER 7**

-----

The constant shift from day to night duty and then back to day again screwed up his bio clock. Captain Jim Brass couldn't decide to wish his neighbours goodnight or good morning at times, but he solved that problem by not wishing them at all. A smile and a wave suffices well. Hell, the only time he had to greet the next-door occupants were when he came home at the ungodly hours and his neighbours peeked through the windows, wondering if they should be using the 911-speed dial.

And here he was, at the crime lab this early in the morning. The good thing about being divorced and living alone is that no one cares if you don't even use the apartment you pay rent for every month. His car was parked at his usual parking slot, something that made him happy since this meant he wasn't going to have let air out from the car tires of the jerk who kept occupying Jim's favourite spot.

The keys jingled softly in his hands as he marched to the front door, his mind wondered of his first hot brew of coffee for the day. Once he had swallowed down his first cup, he'll be ready for the maniac murderers and murderesses of the Vegas insanity.

"Hey!"

So much for having his coffee before anything else. Jim found himself butt first on the parking lot floor and as he attempted to peel himself up, he searched for the cause of his fall. "Sanders…" he half sighed and muttered exasperatedly. "You want to try walking with your eyes looking in front next time?"

"Sorry," Sanders replied, already done dusting himself and was helping Jim up.

"And yes, I'm fine, thanks for asking." Jim sarcastically added, peeved for having the ex-lab rat ruin his perfectly perfect day.

Sanders shrugged, "Nice to know."

Now, this was the odd part. On any normal day, Sanders would've laughed and tried for a half thought of retort. But not today. "Something wrong?"

Jim had counted up to five before Sanders finally answered to that, and it wasn't even a proper reply. "Huh?"

"I said if you were OK?" he repeated his words in a different context.

"Yeah, I'm good."

It wasn't until Sanders was walking away and had set a few feet between themwhen Jim finally decided that something was indeed wrong. "You know what, Sanders?"

He turned behind slowly, but the look of numbness was still plastered on his face.

Jim continued with his small speech. "I've been in this enforcement business for decades and after thousands of interrogations, it's nice to know I can definitely pick out a liar."

"You saying I'm a liar now?" Sanders had eliminated the distance he made before.

"I'm saying that you shouldn't be playing poker, unless you intend to lose." He opened out his arms as if to show his surrender, but his held on to his thick face expression remain. It was a technique he mastered while trying to look indifferent; comes in handy when interrogating the lying murderers.

Shaking his head and snorting, Sanders waved his hands in the air, "Whatever," and backed up again, preparing to move off. But he didn't. Instead, he stopped somewhere in his third or fourth step. "You didn't… you know." He paused and contemplated his words over. "Never mind."

"If you meant whether I told anyone?"

Even with Sanders' head lowered, Jim could see him swallow hard and nod slowly.

"No." the detective simply answered. "That's between you and Gil." Sanders nodded again and stood still on the spot despite the sun's burning rays. Jim, however, moved behind and retreated into the shade of the building. Throwing his keys into the pocket of his slacks, Jim felt the smooth plastic of the box. Pulling it out, he drew a cigarette from the Marlboro pack and lit the nicotine stick with a lighter. "It's been more than a year since then, why are you asking me now?" Even with all he had to do, Jim was curious.

In fact, Jim had been curious about many things since he accidentally stumbled upon a secret meeting he was never meant to witness.

It was a routine search of the suspect's life and his everyday life. On the guilty man's own organiser was a number to one Dr. Cameron. Jim had traced that to a private therapist downtown. Partially his fault, he went in unannounced but as the gentleman that he was, he waited until Cameron was done with her visiting patient.

As a young child, he was told that shrinks were for the nut jobs and the whacks. And even though being a cop had sometimes strengthened and more often changed his perception on it, he would never be ready to meet the two men who had exited from Cameron's counselling chambers.

He stood up and straightened his coat, making sure his badge was in his front pocket as the door creaked open revealing a shocked Gil Grissom and Greg Sanders as their eyes locked. The short but slightly plump Cameron ushered them out and asked who Jim was and his business for being there.

"I'm just here to ask about a possible patient of yours?" Jim never took his eyes off the two people he knew so well. Or at least he believed he knew them.

"I'm sorry, but unless you have a warrant, I'm not allowed to divulge any of my patients' information."

"Is that so?" Jim knew asking her about Gil and Sanders would be useless, so he pulled out a slip of paper and presented it to the blonde therapist. "Well, it's a good thing then that I have one right here."

Gently taking it from Jim with all the politeness of an educated lady, Cameron looked up and smiled. "Then let's talk in my room. Liz," she called out to her secretary, "hold all my calls and have the next patient wait a while, please."

Before he had followed the woman into her room, Jim received a nod from Gil signalling that he was going to get a story from the supervisor later. Sanders, on the other hand, looked like all he wanted to do was to blend in with the walls.

When he had returned to the lab, he discovered Gil in the break room, knowing that Jim was a creature of habit, alwaysfeeding his coffee addiction before proceeding anywhere else.

"Hey, Gil."

The seasoned CSI flattened the folder on the metal table and greeted him back. "Jim."

"How are things?"

"Fine. Thanks for asking. And how are you?"

Jim was done stirring the sugar into the cup and moved forward. "Not bad." He drank the brew down in one big gulp, not caring how hot it was because sipping coffee was for the artsy-fartsy kind.

"We need to talk, Jim."

"What about?" He knew what it was about, but Jim decided maybe it was better to play dumb and to humour Gil.

"Won't you take a seat?" As Jim did so, Gil sat up a little more and weaved his fingers alternately to be placed on the table. "About today at Dr. Cameron's, Greg had an appointment with her. He's regularly visiting Dr. Cameron for a few sessions."

Jim had waited for a few more moments, expecting Gil to continue with a reason and not just give some lousy halfway explanation. When nothing came out, Jim made his own conclusions. "Oh, I see. What is it this time Gil? Alcoholism like Sara had or is it like Catherine's urge to take cheques from suspects? Oh wait, maybe it's like Warrick's gambling addiction."

"It's not like that,"

"No?" Jim brushed the cup aside to his right. "Gil, you've been covering for your people too long. It's not going to make you or anyone else look good when the sheriff finds out."

"I told you about Catherine's case because I trusted you." His voice had raised a notch.

"And I haven't told a soul. But if you're going to do things behind my back; make sure I don't find out." Jim had pushed himself away from the table and headed for the glass door. "And if I do find out, whether by shear luck or on purpose; I want to know what's going on."

Only one foot had made it pass the door when Gil came to Greg's defence in full vengeance. "Greg is not an alcoholic nor is he a gambler!"

Pulling back into the break room, Jim looked out and slowly swung the door close, hoping to make their exchange less noticeable. "Then what the hell is it, Gil? Drugs?"

"For the love of God, Jim!"

If he hadn't witnessed hundreds of suspects jump up and slamming their fists into objects, Jim would've been startled by Gil's own version of such an outburst. Instead, when the CSI had smacked his open palms on the table, Jim's only response was to raise an eyebrow.

The cup of coffee he had left on the furniture rocked a bit and sloshed dark liquid on the table. Jim figured that the only way any of them could cool down was by calmly taking a seat. Gil obviously thought so as well as he sat back down.

"Dr. Cameron is an old friend of mine." Gil went on. "She agreed to see Greg with his problem."

"What problem is that?"

"Since the explosion."

It was so bluntly obvious that Jim felt like kicking himself for not thinking of that. For a small window in time, Jim felt a slight pang of guilt, but he knew that feeling guilty was never going to get him anywhere. Soon, the guilt disappeared. "Go on."

"Greg can barely work at times, mostly in fear of what might happen again. He came to me for help and I'm helping him."

"By seeing this friend of yours; Dr. Cameron?"

"Yes." Gil said. "I've been going with him since he feels uncomfortable meeting her alone."

"But why hide it? Why so secretive?" there were a thousand and one questions why Gil and Sanders would hide something so normal and expected.

"Because, Greg doesn't want the department to feel that he's a liability that they should dispose of. Is it so wrong to help a man keep his job- and his sanity?"

Jim shook his head and sighed, "No, Gil."

"Are you satisfied with this?"

"I just don't see why you couldn't tell me."

"Don't feel insulted, Jim. No one else knows, and let's keep it that way."

They let the quietness pass before anyone uttered a word, and when that happened, it was Jim to do so. "Sanders' secret is safe with me. I know what it's like to want to hide something so badly. As long as it's not killing or hurting anybody. And I didn't mean to offend." He tried hard to keep the last sentence as care free as possible, hoping to make it sound like it didn't matter if he had said it or not.

"If anything, I feel somewhat touched."

"Touched? For making it sound like you were an overbearing, selfish boss who was trying to cover up his team's mistakes?" Jim scoffed.

"No. For being a friend who cares."

"You must've misinterpreted what I meant, then."

Gil smiled and stood up, "I'm sure you meant what you meant. It takes a good friend to find out the truth but a true friend to act as if nothing happened."

"Who said that?"

Jim could see Gil enjoying the moment as he replied to that question. "You did, Jim. A long time ago."

Moving down the corridors after being left by Gil, Jim hovered at the DNA lab for a while. Looking in, he saw Sanders concentrating hard on his work. No loud music was playing or any funny antics. Just the plain sterile silence of the place. Indeed, Jim knew how he had to hide his demons of his own drinking problem, covering up his depression from his divorce. The only regret he had was not having someone like Gil to help him through it. Sanders was lucky, and blessed for having someone who cared.

Jim left Sanders to be, just poking fun at him occasionally hoping to get back the humour. But the meeting at the therapist was well hidden as he promised, so it was a slight surprise when Sanders asked him whether he had opened his trap to anyone. And he hadn't. There was no way in hell he was going to betray Gil's trust even if the two men had had their differences.

The heated conversation between him and Gil felt so long ago, and now here he was standing at the corner of the building, under the porch and being questioned about his promise. The man that stood in the parking lot with Jim now, was a far cry from the one who had been sheepishly avoiding his gaze at Dr. Cameron's office. The question he asked still lingered in his ears: _'It's been more than a year since then, why are you asking me now?'_

After the long silence, Sanders finally decided to follow Jim into the cooling shade and answered, "I guess my conscience is getting me." He shrugged again and eyed Jim's cigarette. "I thought you quit?"

Taking in a long drag, Jim savoured the burnt aroma of tobacco and paper. "You're not the only one who's changing things after Nick's ordeal. I figured life's too short to not enjoy it with a few sinful pleasures."

"Yeah."

"Look, Sanders. In my line of business, we're faced with plenty of questions. Like maybe if I had ducked instead of swerved? Or if I had taken the right and not the left, someone could still be alive or another could've died. The thing is, it's in the past. You gotta live beyond it and not _in_ it."

"Funny, you should say that."

Tapping his smoke to free some of the ashes, Jim questioned him silently and waited for a response.

"I sort of said the same thing to someone else."

"Then do me a favour?" The stick was almost at its end of life. "Take your own advice."

"Maybe my advice is flawed." He flatly stated.

"Well then do me another favour. Go talk to someone other than Gil. Don't get me wrong, I mean, he's a great guy but you're going to get more by sharing with someone else than with a person who sits in an office filled with insects and instant preserved body parts in a jar."

"I _was_ talking to someone abou-."

"And I'm not talking about Dr. Cameron either." Jim anticipated whom Sanders was going to mention. "I mean someone who understands your line of work and that can tell the difference between fingerprint dust and mascara. Get what I'm saying?"

A weak grin fluttered across Sanders' lips. "Think so."

"Good."

"I'm going to go now. I'll see you around, cap."

Jim sucked in the last of the cigarette and finished it off by putting it out with his shoe. Knowing how the janitors hated litter, the captain made sure he swept it in between the blades of grass and hidden from plain sight.

The rich tones of a ringing mobile phone went off and Jim's head dove for his phone only to realise it wasn't his. Looking up and scanning around, he noticed Sanders had his cell to his ear. He could've sworn he caught Sanders saying 'Hey, Grissom' into his phone.

"You heading in or out?"

Jim turned and smiled at the pretty CSI, "Clocking in."

"Too bad." Sara grinned back, "I was going to ask you if you'd like to have breakfast with Greg and I."

"You having breakfast with Greg Sanders?"

"Why? Is that wrong?"

"No," Jim shook his head in disagreement, "Just that I had a chat with him and sounded like he didn't have any breakfast plans."

"Well, I haven't asked him yet." She chuckled, but Jim could see her eyes sparkle even behind her sunglasses. "Guess I should go ask him now before he leaves. Bye, captain."

He lifted his hand to wave at her even though she hadn't bothered to turn behind to acknowledge it. Standing there to watch her walk up to Sanders, the younger man held up his hand, silently telling Sara that he was on the phone.

Hopefully, the two would get a good meal because allJim needed now was a mug of coffee that he'll take down in a gulp. And not sip it in the artsy-fartsy manner.

-----

**TBC...**

Like to thank **Krazykid197**and **Hyperactive Forever** for the reviews.

Thanks to everyone else for reading.  
-Cheers  
Jo


	8. Chapter 8

**Title**: Teach Me

**Summary**: From the after effects of Grave Danger, the CSI team are faced with the past and repercussions of the lab explosion. And no one takes it harder than the victim himself; Greg. Just my own little mind trying to vent my frustration over TPTB's lack of continuance over "_Play With Fire_".

**A/N**: I'm going to leave Nick well alone since they're obviously going to continue his whole nightmare-ish episode through to Season 6. I will however, torture you lovely people with more Greg angst. BTW, I do welcome feedback whether bad or good, that means flames as well. Just make sure you do have a solid reason for your flame. (If that made any sense at all).

**Disclaimer**: Don't own CSI and all its characters, whoever owns them, owns them. But it's not me- though I wish.

**CHAPTER 7**

-----

"I _was_ talking to someone abou-."

"And I'm not talking about Dr. Cameron either." Jim interrupted Greg in mid-sentence. "I mean someone who understands your line of work and that can tell the difference between fingerprint dust and mascara. Get what I'm saying?"

If it weren't for the graveness of the conversation, Greg would've laughed at Jim's reference. But his mind was pre-occupied with other things at that moment. "Think so." There wasn't anything else for Greg to say, he just needed a verbal confirmation from the detective, just something to ease his mind for the rest of the day.

"Good."

Greg had wondered if Jim had ever given up on smoking before this, especially since he was holding the cigarette in his hand so calmly. There was a friend of Greg's that had given up on smoking for almost two years, but when he finally caved in and surrendered to old habits, his hands were shaking every time he lit one. Then again, Greg wasn't in any position to question Jim's smoking lifestyle. "I'm going to go now. I'll see you around, cap."

He had just made it half way across the gravel lot when his phone chirped away. What made Greg stop in the middle of the Las Vegas sun was the name identified on his caller ID. He pulled the cell open and pressed the receiver to his ear. "Hey, Grissom."

_"Greg?"_

Of course it would be Greg, who else would it be? "Yeah?" he answered, his own voice filled with too much suspicion than he had intended it too have.

_"I was wondering if you had…" _Grissom took his own sweet time in spewing out with the words, it was as if he was purposely saying it one syllable at a time. "_If you had handed in your evaluation form yet?"_

"Grissom, I gave it to you last week."

"_You did?_"

If there was ever a time for Greg to pick up Grissom's one-eyebrow-raised technique, it would have been then. "Yes, I did." But it was more of Greg's nature to frown than to arch his eyebrow when it comes to confusion; so he frowned. "You even pointed out to me that I ticked female instead of male."

"Greg!"

Without even registering who had summoned him, Greg held his hand up to signal silence and when he had received it, only did he turn to see who it was. Sara waved back and smiled, showing that she understood and would wait.

There was a rough sort of sound coming from the other side of the conversation; Greg deduced that it must be Grissom clearing his throat. Just the part about his supervisor asking regarding the form was a mystery he couldn't solve. "_I must've misplaced it… hold on._" More background noise resonated over the phone as Greg was left to guessing that Grissom was currently opening and shutting folders, piling and un-piling his stacks of reports and books and then there was a 'crack' so close to the speaker that it made Greg wince from the attack to his ears.

"Yeah?" he turned his attention on to Sara who was patiently waiting for him.

"I figure you as a bacon and eggs kind of guy."

Was today 'Get-Greg-Confused-Day'? "Huh?"

"Breakfast, Greg. I'm starving and I can bet even you need sustenance to be hyper most of the time." Sara threw him the trademark-amused chuckle of hers. "How about heading to the diner two blocks down for a scrumptious meal made to please any hungry CSI?"

"Uh, sure."

"Great," Sara finished off her chuckle with a bright smile. "I'll see you in my car- I'm driving." She jingled the keys in the air before waltzing off to her vehicle.

Greg was tempted to shake his head in confusion, but his frown was still plastered on his face, shaking his head would've been over-dramatising it. The static from Grissom's side was beginning to subside when it built up again, with a vengeance. Sighing, Greg was left to ponder on the strangeness that was the day. The huge chuck of 'strange' was coming from Grissom's sudden worry about Greg's evaluation form and looking for it, and Sara's over-the-top-joy invite to have breakfast. Las Vegas must be on some sort of drug he didn't know about. If he were given the chance to name this drug and with Sara's perkiness, Greg would name it 'Happy-Pill'. "Grissom?" he was getting tired of shuffling his feet around while being accompanied by Grissom's sounds of searching.

"_Just wait…_" A 'smack' to a 'wham', "…another minute…" then a 'thud', another 'smack' and a final 'crack'. "_Found it._"

If there was relief to be found in the success of Grissom's hunt, Greg couldn't find it. "This isn't about my evaluation form, is it, Grissom?"

Long pauses always made Greg nervous, what more when they came from the man of mystery- Gil Grissom.

"You checkin' up on me or something?"

"_I was just thinking if you were all right_." He finally answered. "_And if you needed to… talk?_"

The word 'talk' was a secret code between them for Dr. Cameron. Even in the morning heat, Greg shivered at the thought of re-entering the room again; the smell of leather polish from Dr. Cameron's office still sickens him. He had left that place a year ago and if he were going back there, it would only be over his own dead body. "No… definitely not doing any 'talking', Grissom," he stated it as firmly as he could. Even without being in the same room as him, Greg could imagine Grissom standing by his rack of pinned bugs and butterflies as he was talking to him, all that glory of death immortalised by formalin and books. There was a sudden haunting from his own exchange with Jim earlier on. _'…someone who understands your line of work and that can tell the difference between fingerprint dust and mascara.'_

"_Fine, but if you need help-."_

"How about breakfast?" Greg interjected, cutting short any possibility of a sappy moment.

"_Breakfast?"_

"Yeah, you know food… drink. Stuff your body digests and-."

"_Greg, I know what breakfast is_."

He was glad that his brief explanation of breakfast had gotten his supervisor slightly annoyed, how was else was he going to end the heart-to-heart talk on the cell phone? "Good, I'll meet you at Jenny's Diner just a couple of blocks away." Greg was mentally preparing himself for Grissom to object, saying that he had better things to do and reports to fill in. Just maybe there would be a miracle.

"_I'll be there_." Even though Grissom had said those three words and immediately hung up, Greg could sense, or at least his paranoid side had sensed, Grissom's mounted reluctance in agreeing to it.

Beads of sweat were rolling down his neck and Greg was thrown back into the moment of him standing in the sun. He felt that he was going to need to take control of his life soon and make decisions, stop being so damned indecisive and for once, tell others what to do and how he was feeling inside.

He needed to get a grip on his world.

Stepping up to the driver's side of Sara's car, he lightly tapped on her window. In response, Sara opened the car door instead of the window like he had expected her too. Though her sunglasses were still wrapped around her face, Sara squinted when she looked up to Greg from her seat. "Yeah?"

The cool air from the vehicle's air conditioning spilled out and tickled his skin with comfort. "Move over," he grinned, "I'm driving this time."

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**TBC…**

To **remoob1513**, **Guardian6**, **Goody**, and **dArkliTe-sPirit **thank you so much for your reviews.  
**Hyperactive Forever: **Cheese is good :) thanks.

Thanks to everyone for reading.  
-Cheers  
Jo


	9. Chapter 9

**Title**: Teach Me

**Summary**: From the after effects of Grave Danger, the CSI team are faced with the past and repercussions of the lab explosion. And no one takes it harder than the victim himself; Greg. Just my own little mind trying to vent my frustration over TPTB's lack of continuance with "_Play With Fire_".

**A/N**: Picking this up after leaving it to collect dust for a bit. And of course, this has been beta'd by the amazing **Aidrianna**. Like I said, you're a very brave girl :hugs:. Thanks a bunch.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own CSI and all its characters, whoever owns them, owns them. But it's not me- though I wish.

**CHAPTER 9**

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**Cracking** her knuckles from lack of use, Sara was glad she didn't have to give Hodges a knuckle sandwich for breakfast. He seemed preoccupied with something from Ecklie.

Who was she to mess around his apple-polishing?

Speaking of breakfast, Sara wondered if she could pull in a certain someone to accompany her for a quick bite at the diner down the street. She had circled the entire place looking for him and all she figured he had left the building already. If she was fast enough, she could still catch him before he was too far. Pulling on her sunglasses, Sara squinted as the sunrays assaulted her with its usual morning perkiness.

It wasn't who she was searching for but she could do with some human interaction. "You heading in or out?"

If detective Brass was the slightest bit startled, he never revealed it, at least not that Sara could see. "Clocking in.," he replied in the simplest form.

"Too bad," she pursed her lips together for the effect of teasing him, knowing very well he was going to have a bright sunny day of murders and what nots. She would've left it at that, in fact, but she had finally spotted the main star she was hunting down and decided to mix him into her next line for Jim. "I was going to ask you if you'd like to have breakfast with Greg and I."

"You having breakfast with Greg Sanders?" This time, Jim looked genuinely surprised.

"Why, is that wrong?" Her curiosity was far stronger than her defensiveness at the point, though the latter was on the verge of breaking out again. Sara knew Jim always had an unspoken dislike for Greg with Jim's constant jabs and puns at him.

"No," Jim shot out the answer faster than Hodges can revel in his pride. "Just that I had a chat with him and sounded like he didn't have any breakfast plans."

"Well, I haven't asked him yet. Guess I should go ask him now before he leaves." She nudged the glasses up higher her nose hoping to block out more of the offending sunlight from her eyes. "Bye, Captain."

Sara busied herself with getting to Greg before he dashed off into his VW. What better way was there to get any attention than by shouting like a mad idiot? "Greg!" Landing silently on one foot, she gave Greg a small nod as he motioned for her to remain quiet while he finished with the phone call.

Shifting from one foot to the other, Sara remained patiently on her spot while waiting. She noticed his tiny flinches as if his cell was pinching his ears and that made her wonder who on the other end could inflict the discomfort. Her mind wandered to all sorts of possible theories and one of them hilariously included aliens from another dimension.

Hunger must be getting to her.

"Yeah?"

Forget about formalities and politeness, Sara was starving and she was going to get him to accompany her. "I figure you as a bacon and eggs kind of guy."

"Huh?" Greg frowned and shook his head, obviously in confusion.

So much for the straight-to-the-point approach. "Breakfast, Greg. I'm starving and I can bet even you need sustenance to be hyper most of the time," Sara couldn't help but laugh at his morning daze. "How about heading to the diner two blocks down for a scrumptious meal made to please any hungry CSI?" She sealed her offer with one of her smiles; Sara was never one for making puppy-dog eyes and that was Greg's department.

"Uh, sure."

Sara had this small fear that she would have to put a fight up with Greg to get him to have a meal, but now, relief flooded her as she added more brilliance to her smile. "Great," hands already rummaging through her jeans pockets, Sara extracted her keys and teasingly shook the collection in the air. "I'll see you in my car- I'm driving."

It was rather predictable but Sara knew that as soon as she announced that she was to be the designated driver, Greg would be the very first to roll his eyes and retort that no one would ever dare challenge her on that. When he didn't, the slight surprise crept up from her and she flashed him a small smile. It went unnoticed as Greg was again paying full attention to the phone and whoever it was on the other side.

Not bothering to even wave, Sara silently backed away and headed for her own car. Searching through the rows of metallic coloured vehicles, she spotted hers and hit the button on her controls, unlocking the doors. Glancing back at Greg, Sara eyed the younger man and her thoughts wandered to the conversation she had accidentally eavesdropped upon.

Her throat felt tighter and rough as she pondered about what he had said, all those demons hiding inside without letting anyone know. She knew the feeling all too well; covering something that's been clawing within and tearing her apart piece by piece, desperately and silently seeking someone who would understand her inner self more than she did.

Pulling open the driver's door, she slid into the seat, her fingers feeling underneath it for the lever and adjusting the position of the place just a little. Finally satisfied with it, Sara pushed the keys into the ignition and allowed the engine to purr to life. Letting her head rest back, she reached for the air conditioning switch and let the relief settle slowly in the car and around her. The cool air felt good to her skin and the seat's soft woven material eased her aching muscles.

From behind her tinted lenses, she could still witness Greg's morning-sun-bake phone call. Whoever it is, must be something important for Greg to just stand there and be morning roast, not bothering to seek the shade for comfort.

Gently, the sunglasses slipped lower from her sight, giving her a better view of her junior rookie. For more than a year she had been playing mentor to him, guiding him along the rocky path of a level one, showing him the tricks of the trade and allowing him the space he needed all at the same time. If she could, she would've cocooned him from the emotional side effects of the job, the death, the sudden brutality and passion of each heinous crime.

But she couldn't.

No, the emotional luggage was part of the job and there was no way of skipping that point in the task. It was what made a CSI who she or he was, reminding the investigator that it's the emotions that give them the fuel for the job and not ambition. If it was ambition that pushed you, you'd burn out before you even come close to a level two promotion.

Yet, Sara discovered an interesting truth to her student-teacher relationship of her and Greg. It had become a quest for personal gain when she unofficially took the role. Giving herself a reason to look forward to come to work each day instead of filling herself with hate for the criminals. Now she was driven by her need to show the world that Sara Sidle was worth more than just a crime-solving machine.

She could care.

She could care enough to impart her knowledge to the young and inexperienced and to show that she had other uses. It was then, during the self-revelation, that Sara also unearthed the reason behind her desperate invitation of breakfast. She needed to help Greg tiptoe through the shattered past and emotions. Maybe, just maybe, it was her way of finding retribution for her own unvoiced demons.

Maybe.

'_Seeking someone who would understand her inner self more than she did.'_

The thought echoed in her mind once more.

Just maybe, she could find that someone in him.

Eyes closed and her self-motivation sealed, she found herself reaching out and opening the car door for that very person she needed to reach her goal. There were no words required from her, as all he did was flash her his grin.

"Move over," Sara cocked and eyebrow at his demand, "I'm driving this time."

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Thanks to **Sillie**, **boboskiwatin**, **dArkliTe**-**sPirit**, **Hyperactive** **Forever**, **remoob1513** and **Kate****K** for the lovely reviews. And thanks to everyone else for reading.

-Cheers  
Jo


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